That First French Summer - Mandy Baggot Page 0,37

You are a mother, a teacher, and a grown-up. He means nothing to you. He hurt you. You will not be taken in again no matter how good he looks.

‘Madam?’ the manager asked for the second time.

‘Yes. Sorry,’ Emma said. She fixed a smile on her face and finally shifted her feet.

She followed the manager. Mimicking his step, she ducked her head slightly to avoid Guy’s eyes. This was like a form of torture. She knew she was going to be sitting opposite him but she wanted to leave actually looking at him until the last possible moment.

Within seconds he was a few feet away. He was smiling at her, his napkin gripped in his hands. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers. As she looked at him a section of his hair fell across his forehead. He pushed it back behind his ear.

‘Madam,’ the manager said. He pulled the chair out for her.

‘Thank you.’ She sat down, moving her eyes to look at her plate.

‘The menu for you, madam. I will give you a few moments,’ the manager said. He handed the menu to Emma, smiled at Guy and then backed away leaving them alone.

She had to lift her head. Looking at the crockery wasn’t going to achieve anything. But she knew what she would see. She wouldn’t see the boy who had broken her. She would see the man she was still attracted to. She could already feel pinpricks creeping up her bare arms and it wasn’t due to the rain she’d experienced.

‘I have Merlot. Would you like—’

‘Yes… please,’ she interrupted. To get through this conversation she needed alcohol.

He poured some wine into her glass and put the bottle back on the table. It was then, as the bottle went down, she noticed the yellow flowers. Guy was watching her. Meeting his gaze, it was if he knew what she was thinking.

‘I was going to have the Camembert to start,’ Guy said. He cleared his throat and took another mouthful of wine.

‘Right. The menu,’ Emma said, realising she was still holding it in her hand.

‘Emma…’ Guy began.

‘Not yet… please.’ Her voice was faltering and there were tears on the verge already.

‘I was just going to say… can we start again? Can we have dinner like old friends catching up, maybe?’

‘Old friends.’

‘I don’t want to upset you. I think I upset you yesterday and I am sorry. I should not have spoken that way, with Dominic near. His ankle is OK?’ he asked.

She nodded her head, reached for her wineglass.

‘I have missed you.’ His words were said in little more than a whisper. They waved over the table so soft and smooth but they hit her with full force. How could she respond to that?

‘I’ll have… the moules marinières.’ She barely got the words out of her mouth. It seemed as if there was a rock between her lips, pent up emotion forming a real physical barrier. She cleared her throat.

‘Emma…’ he began again.

‘What do you want me to say?’ She swallowed down the threatening tears and replaced it with anger.

‘I do not want to fight. I want to find out what has happened with you. It has been so long and—’

‘It’s been eight years.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ve changed.’

‘Circumstances have changed maybe but—’

‘I’ve changed.’

‘Not to me.’

It was a dart to her heart. She couldn’t avoid looking at him. This time she didn’t want to avoid looking at him. Despite what he’d done to her, the depth of feeling she had for him engulfed everything she’d felt for anyone before or since. Sat just across the table was the love of her life. What could she do? What should she do?

‘Are you ready to order?’

A waiter was at their table, intruding on the conversation, waiting for a response to his question.

‘Oui. Camembert to start and the chicken tagine. Moules marinières and…’ Guy started.

‘The lemon sole,’ Emma filled in.

Chapter Twenty-Two

He desperately wanted to make her feel at ease. Every time she reached for her glass her fingers were shaking. This was all his fault. What had he done all those years ago? The answer was simple. Not enough. He should have stood up for what he wanted. He should have dealt with the consequences of his actions and then pursued his dream. The dream he’d had since he met her. He wasn’t supposed to be living his life with Madeleine. He had envisaged everything happening with Emma. His reality had got skewed and he’d stood by and let it happen.

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